


Masks

by second_skin



Series: Bespoke (Mycroft/Sally) [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Sally-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-09 08:57:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_skin/pseuds/second_skin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Sally is clever, devoted to her work, and frequently annoyed by the idiots who surround her. She has a lot in common with Mycroft, actually. Sally's relationship with Mycroft begins with her saving his arse.<br/>Betaed by marysutherland. </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masks

 

Sally'd nearly taken a knee to Lewis's balls.

He'd started wolf-whistles when she walked in sporting a ruffled blouse and tight black skirt. Half the room had joined in. "Grow up, you bleeding idiots!" She felt the pinch of thick fingers on her elbow. Lestrade pulled her into his office, growling at the assembled detectives, "The next one who makes a remark to Sergeant Donovan will join her in costume. If you think I won't put you lot in dresses and aprons, ask McNulty what colour knickers he wore for the Lambeth case last year."

Sally chortled until Lestrade slammed the door. "Don't be stupid, Donovan. They want a reaction. Just walk away."

"But . . ."

"No excuses. I'm off to the surveillance post. Focus on the job, Sergeant. I don't want sloppiness or distractions getting anyone killed tonight."

She was still pissed off, and the fact that Lestrade was probably right about just ignoring the stupid fuckers didn't help. She tied her apron. Adjusted the transmitter in her bra. Concealed the earpiece. _Ready_.

Lestrade and a gang from the Service were outside the embassy. Sally was in charge of four undercover officers inside, and personally protecting Freak the Elder. Mycroft's operatives were working with the Colombian government, dismantling a drug cartel that put former Medellin thugs in bed with the Taliban. Retaliation by the cartel had started three months ago. Two British diplomats dead in Washington. Three in Ottawa. Freak the Younger predicted London was next; tonight's gala the most likely target.

Posing as one of the catering staff, Sally analyzed every guest, served champagne, made mental notes.

_That bloke near the orchestra. When did he arrive? Too muscular. Looks more like a wrestler than a posh diplomat. Neat, well-tailored, except . . . Trouser hems splattered with mud. He didn't come in the front door metal detectors with the other guests. Must've slipped through the back‚ splashed through muck at the service entrance. Might have been able to avoid the officers who were doing the security sweep there in the rush of caterers and florists._

Getting closer, she saw something was clearly strapped to the man's calf, marring the line of his trousers. _Shit._

Motioning for Anthea to follow, Sally maneuvered Mycroft through the crowd, past the kitchen, to a windowless pantry. Radioed Lestrade. The MI5 boys would take over now. She hoped they were ready.

Mycroft wanted information. His cheeks had gone colourless and she could see his right hand trembling‚ just for an instant‚ as he beckoned her to come nearer and explain what she'd seen. Sally frowned and motioned for silence, keeping her eyes on the bit of light she could see through a small crack in the door.

The pattern in D.C. and Ottawa had been the same; a single shooter. But there was no guarantee. Could be another lurking nearby.

Shouting. Running. Three shots. Quiet.

Lestrade's voice in her ear, "Got him. Sergeant Bailey took a hit in the arm, but she'll be okay. Good work, Donovan. Send Mycroft to meet the team outside."

When she turned, Sally saw Anthea's arm tight around Mycroft's waist, her hand stroking his.

 _So that's how it is, huh? Should have known_.

Mycroft quickly stepped away from Anthea and stiffened his posture, then gave a nod before exiting, "My admiration and gratitude, Sergeant Donovan." The colour and the calm had returned to his face.

Sally had a feeling he really meant it--the gratitude bit. It didn't seem like the tosser's usual smooth, condescending tone. She felt a little rush of heat to her own face when he held her gaze for a moment and smiled.

_Nice to be appreciated once in a blue moon._

As they made their way out of the pantry and through the kitchen, Anthea appropriated two glasses and a bottle of champagne, then tugged Sally towards a side door that led to the courtyard. Sally saw Lestrade, Lewis, and the rest of the crew milling about in the ballroom, replaying the take-down, and decided she damn well deserved a break before heading to the Yard for paperwork. She knew she'd pick a fight with Lewis if she got near him, anyway. So she slipped off her heels and let Anthea tug her to a quiet corner of the terrace.

Sally and Anthea leaned against a stone wall and swallowed down the tiny sweet bubbles.

Anthea always looked so bloody calm and perfect--and tonight was no exception. Her deep crimson nails clicked against the glass, and her pretty lips quirked up with each sip. She clearly had something on her mind.

"Mr. Holmes wanted me to thank you again."

"Just doing my job."

Anthea nodded, took another sip, and smiled. "You looked daggers at me back there, Sergeant. Why?"

Sally kept silent. Anthea raised her eyebrows, demanding an answer.

"Used to think you were smart and tough," Sally said. "I admired you a lot. Now I think you're just sleeping with your boss."

Anthea laughed. Sally took one last gulp of champagne and waved her glass towards the brightly lit granite edifice behind them. Why did everyone want to laugh at her today? She didn't like being laughed at. "I don't see what's so funny. In there, you . . ."

"Not very observant, are you, Sally? I prefer the company of women. And Mr. Holmes hasn't had anyone in his bed since his partner left four years ago."

Sally lowered her eyes and adjusted her skirt. _Shit. She hadn't realized. She'd noticed all those times Anthea gave John the brush off, but_ . . .

Anthea continued, her voice slightly softer than usual, "He can't really trust most people, you know. He knows all their secrets, and they hate him for it. He's got a thousand names in his contacts list--all of them claim to be friends. But most of them would sell him body and soul for enough power or money or the right headline in the _Times_. It's a life of isolation you probably can't imagine."

"I didn't think . . . I mean . . . sorry, I guess."

Anthea pursed her lips and gave a mock shudder. "Not to mention the poor man has to claim Sherlock as an actual blood relative."

Sally snorted and nodded, glad the mood was lightening a bit and there seemed to be no hard feelings.

"Look, all I'm saying is: Don't go making assumptions about things you don't know anything about, okay? I organize his calendar, analyze intelligence reports, translate correspondence. But I like to think we're also friends now. And it's my pleasure to hold his hand occasionally if he needs it--or if I need it. He's not the icey monster people think he is. That's all."

Sally looked up. Glossed lips brushed lightly against her cheek. Then Anthea pulled her Blackberry from her skirt pocket, glanced at it, and disappeared.

 

 

******

"Let's call it a night, Donovan. Get some rest. You earned it."

Sally watched the grey head and sagging shoulders as they trudged out the door of the Yard.

 _Are Lestrade and I friends? Should we be?_ she wondered. _Were he and his wife still having trouble getting their differences sorted?_ Kind of weird that she didn't know the answer, wasn't it?

"So . . . thanks for everything today." She lunged forward in a clumsy embrace.

He looked confused. Then panicky.

 _Oh, Christ_ , what was she thinking? She and Lestrade were _not_ Anthea and Mycroft.

She pulled back and punched his arm--maybe a little too hard. "Hey, boss, buy you a pint?"

He grinned and punched her back. "Sure. Lead the way, Sergeant."

 


End file.
